Is it a river of Lava flowing yellow,
   or a gold Serpent slithering past
   slowly across Night's ebony lap?
This ember-eyed Militia marches by,
   unreachable across No Man's Land,
   carrying Memories, Dreams, Regrets
   wrapped in the black cloth of Loss;
To die behind, dwindle, and disappear
   in the claws of the chimera Chronos.

I glance Back at ghost cats in attack,
   prowling predators with amber stares-
   Secrets slinking forward to pounce
   and drag my downed body into darkness
   where Wounds reopen to wind and rain.
Forward lies a rose-petal Path to Paradise,
   or a ruby-studded Road to Prosperity,
   or a red charcoal Gate to Purgatory;
I know not, the Cobras spit mist in my eyes.

We drive, thrive, survive over this Road of Life
as Thor's mortar rounds sound our advance,
   Wonder-claps and Brightening-bolts,
and craned lamps light the row aglow,
   topaz Tranquility striped by gray Gloom.
Our Destination- some mythical Nation
   over the midnight seas of silt
   and through candle-lit cities of Sin
   past pouring walls of Woe.

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